


Illuminated, Unspoken

by EHyde



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: Gen, Self-Harm, original dragon bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EHyde/pseuds/EHyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Zeno learns more about his powers, he makes the decision to protect his king no matter what--even if Hiryuu will never acknowledge it. TW for self harm (in the context of Zeno testing his power).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illuminated, Unspoken

Zeno did, in fact, own a sword. It was plain, with no ornamentation and a simple cloth-wrapped hilt, but well-crafted and strong, and it had once belonged to Hakuryuu. Guen didn’t say as much, but Zeno thought it had been his most prized possession. Now, of course, the claws of the white dragon were sharper and stronger than any blade, and it had been nearly five years since Guen had fought with a sword. He’d given it to Zeno when they’d barely known each other for a year, and for a while, just the idea of owning it—and Hakuryuu’s comment, _I don’t need this anymore, but I’d hate to see it leave the family_ —had been enough to get Zeno to show up for training. But it was heavy, awkward: forged for a man Guen’s size, not for a boy like Zeno, and it clearly didn’t suit him.

Zeno also owned a spear. That, of course, had come from Ryokuryuu, and it might not _technically_ belong to Zeno even now, because it certainly hadn’t actually been Shuten’s then. Just a spare, commandeered from the castle barracks, in response to Zeno’s fruitless efforts with Guen’s sword. “Don’t bother with that,” Shuten had said with a derisive laugh. He held out the spear—wood handle rough and unpolished, the blade rattling in its fitting; there was a good chance this one wouldn’t be missed. “Why do you think we give the new recruits spears instead of swords? Even a useless kid can stick someone with something like this.” Zeno took the spear. Shuten made a good point, he had to admit—but it didn’t change the fact that he still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of fighting at all.

“That must be why you use a spear, then,” Abi had said, and Zeno smiled at their familiar bickering.

“I take whatever advantages I can,” Shuten replied. “Only an idiot wouldn’t. A spearman who knows what he’s doing can beat a swordsman of equal skill any day.” He’d raised his own spear then—just as old as the one he’d handed off to Zeno, and mass-produced like any other soldier’s, but well cared-for; anyone watching could see that the spear was _his_ —and grinned, clearly issuing a challenge.

“You know you’d never get a chance to try,” Abi retorted.

“That’s right, huh? Because you know if it’s just blade against blade, you’ll lose.” To that, Abi just rolled his golden eyes.

Unlike Hakuryuu, Seiryuu still used his sword, but he never showed any interest in training Zeno in its use—not until much later. “You were lucky,” Abi said, a week after that battle that Zeno would never forget. “But if you’re going to keep carrying me off the battlefield like that, you need to be able to defend yourself.”

 _No,_ Zeno thought, _I don’t._ That was the whole point. He hadn’t been lucky, rather, he’d finally discovered the true extent of Ouryuu’s powers. And … that should be good, right? There was no reason to keep it from Abi like this, no reason to feel so awful inside, so _wrong._

“Here,” Abi continued. “I had this commissioned for you.” The sword he presented to Zeno was short, more of a dagger than a proper sword, with an enameled golden hilt that glittered in the candlelight—was that a dragon coiled around the guard?—and an elegantly tooled leather scabbard. Abi had always had expensive tastes. It was entirely unlike anything Zeno would have chosen for himself, but it was a gift, and given the circumstances—Zeno unsheathed it. It looked sharp. “It’s a self-defense sword, not like what the soldiers use. You won’t be cutting down enemies with this, but Ouryuu, please, don’t come after me without—just keep it on you, all right?”

Zeno ran his thumb along the edge of the blade. It was as sharp as it looked, and drew blood at the lightest touch, but Zeno’s skin was as good as new the moment he pulled his hand away. Abi had seen _that_ much years ago, yet even now he turned away, as if the sight of such a tiny thing could still bother him. Zeno couldn’t tell him, not yet. Maybe when he was older, when his brothers finally saw him as a fellow adult and not a kid anymore, maybe then he could show them Ouryuu’s true power. For now—he pulled out a handkerchief, wiped the single drop of blood from the blade, and sheathed it once again in its scabbard. “Thank you, Seiryuu,” he said. “I’ll learn to use it. I’ll make sure I can protect you!”

“It’s about protecting yourself, not me, idiot,” said Abi, but the blue dragon’s lips still curved upwards in a rare smile.

Zeno didn’t hide Abi’s dagger away with the sword and spear he’d gotten from Guen and Shuten. _I’m sorry, Abi,_ he thought, as he strapped the dagger to his belt that night and made his way out of the castle in secret. _I know this isn’t what you had in mind. But if this is Ouryuu’s power—and if I’m going to use that power—then I need to test it out. I need to know._

* * *

In a place as well guarded as the castle, it was impossible to avoid being seen altogether, but the castle guards were used to Zeno coming and going at odd hours. If tonight’s overcast, windy weather made for a strange time for a walk, it wasn’t the strangest they’d seen. Zeno’s cloak streamed out behind him, the cold wind making it all but useless for warmth, as he made his way from the castle to the mountains beyond. Not even the light of the full moon could pierce the thick clouds, and the narrow path lay shrouded in darkness, but Zeno had come this way many times. At least it wasn’t raining. Not like that day.

Zeno still felt dizzy and sick when he thought about what had happened. He hadn’t just been cut, he’d been cut _open._ _The first time I was injured on the battlefield. Of course I overreacted! Maybe it wasn’t really that bad!_ That was what he’d thought, what he’d tried to convince himself, but even if the wound itself had closed up, he still had that bloody, cut-up tunic as proof. The tear in the shoulder wasn’t a clean, smooth slice, but a jagged rip, deeper in the front but extending all the way to the back, and every time Zeno forced himself to look at it, he knew his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. He remembered correctly.

Healing from small cuts and scrapes was one thing, but— _Ouryuu really does have powers, after all!_ That should be good news. With this, Zeno could protect Hiryuu—could protect anyone. _If an injury like that won’t kill me, then no one has to die!_ But that meant … he’d have to go through it again. And again. Hakuryuu, Ryokuryuu—even Seiryuu, whose powers so often turned on him—they talked about the thrill they got, using the miraculous abilities they’d been granted. Zeno just felt sick. _Maybe it just takes practice. Maybe if I_ —bile rose in his throat and Zeno stepped off the path, kneeling to empty his stomach. And he hadn’t even started yet.

It didn’t escape his notice that unlike the pain, unlike the injuries, the queasiness didn’t go away. When was the last time he’d really been sick? Aside from this past week, it had been … it had been since before he drank the dragon’s blood, hadn’t it? This wasn’t an illness. This was all in his head, something he could force himself to deal with. It was why he’d come out tonight.

Zeno walked about a mile further, then stopped, stepping off the trail again when he came to a large, fallen tree he recognized. He’d come here before, stopping to rest during walks with his brothers or with his king. On a cold, windy night, the clearing wasn’t nearly so pleasant, but it would serve him well. No one would see him, not this far from the castle, not on a night like this. No one would see what he was about to do. He unsheathed the dagger and drew its blade along the palm of his hand. This pain was sharp and clean, nothing like the cut that should have killed him … and then it was gone. In the dim light of the veiled moon, he could see the line of blood against his skin, but not its color. Zeno had known his powers could do this much for years. _That was just a warm-up._ Next he grasped the blade, tightly, and with his other hand twisted the dagger, wincing at the pain this time but forcing himself to keep his grip tight as he drew the blade back out, still twisting it as he pulled. Opening his hand, he saw shreds of skin and flesh already drawing themselves back into the palm of his hand and the insides of his fingers, knitting back together before his very eyes. While the first simple cut had grown back together almost too quickly to notice, Zeno could actually feel the healing this time. But this still wasn’t close to anything that should kill him.

 _I have to do this. I have to keep going._ If he couldn’t do it now, when he was in control, how could he trust himself on the battlefield? How could he be sure he’d have the courage to put himself between a sword and his king? _I’ve got to stab myself._ He pulled off his cloak and his tunic—no sense ruining good clothing—and sat down on the fallen tree, staring at the dagger in his hands. His left hand was still smeared with blood. _I’ve got to stab myself somewhere that would kill me._ Taking a deep breath, he lifted the blade, placing the tip directly in front of his heart. He closed his eyes.

 _No, wait!_ That day on the battlefield, had that sword actually reached his heart? What if it hadn’t? What if that injury had been fatal, but not too fatal, and … he didn’t want to really die out here, after all! Zeno shifted the dagger lower, took another breath. And another. _Come on, do it!_ A sudden gust of wind whipped his hair into his face, startling him, and the dagger fell from his shaking hands. _All right. All right._ Maybe he still had to work up to that. There was no shame there, right? Retrieving the dagger, he knelt by the side of the tree, resting his left hand on the wood. If he stabbed himself somewhere that wasn’t fatal, first … he lifted the dagger, tried to bring it down in a smooth arc, but both hands were still shaking, and—

“Aaaaugh!” Zeno couldn’t contain the scream of pain—pain and terror. He’d meant to pierce through the back of his hand with the dagger’s point, but instead, the edge of the blade had come down, off-target but with just as much force, and—his last two fingers were gone. Cut clean off. He couldn’t—Zeno couldn’t even see where they’d fallen. How was he going to explain two missing fingers? Even if the wound healed over, that wasn’t something he could just—wait. _What was?—how?_ —he could still feel them. And as he stared at his hand, eyes glued open in morbid fascination, those two fingers moved on their own, connecting again, first the bone, then the flesh reaching out to itself from either side. “—hah!” The laughter came unbidden. Was this funny? _I lost my fingers, but they came back on their own! They glued themselves back together!_ It had to be funny, because if it wasn’t—there were tears mixed in with the laughter, and Zeno didn’t know why.

Zeno knelt there on the cold ground for he didn’t know how much longer, until that hysteric laughter faded out into short, ragged breaths. _That’s enough. That’s enough._ Finally standing, he wiped the dagger and his hand clean on his cloak—ruined after all; he hadn’t had the foresight to bring a cloth for this purpose—and put his shirt back on, but didn’t move from the clearing. _Is it all right? Is it all right that I’m so weak, that I couldn’t do any more than this?_ It had to be. A week ago, he hadn’t known this was something he could do at all. That alone had brought him so much closer to protecting Hiryuu, so any amount of practice had to be worth something, right? He’d have more chances to come out here in secret before the next war, so for tonight, this was enough. With a sigh, Zeno strapped the dagger back to his belt and began making his way back to the trail, only to stop as the clouds parted and the light of the full moon illuminated the landscape more clearly. In the darkness, he’d forgotten how close he was. Just past the clearing—only another hundred feet or so—the ground gave way to a deep, rocky gorge. In the dark, he could have easily stepped over the edge, unknowing until it was too late—

 _And what if it_ was _too late?_ If Zeno didn’t have the nerve to stab himself yet, then what about something where he’d have no _choice_ but to follow through? The stream at the bottom of the gorge was shallow. It wouldn’t carry him away; he’d fall straight onto the rocks, and—he’d already turned back, walking across the clearing and past it. Clouds moved to cover the moon again but now that Zeno remembered his destination, he had no trouble making his way to the edge of the cliff.

_I’ll shatter all the bones in my body. I’ll crack my head open like a melon. I’ll cut myself to pieces on the rocks._

_And then I’ll put myself back together. Because I’m a dragon warrior, too._

Zeno stepped back from the edge of the cliff, then ran forward and leapt.

* * *

War came sooner than anyone had expected, but then, it always did. Zeno hadn’t had another chance to—no. He could have found the time to leave the castle in secret again, could have made it work, but—

_So it’s good I went that far. It was a good thing._

The fall from the cliff had broken him exactly as he’d predicted, and in ways he hadn’t even known to think of. The memory of his own splintered bones protruding through his skin, of his limbs broken and bent in places they weren’t supposed to bend … Zeno hadn’t been able to watch the healing. First he’d been too blinded by the pain to know what was happening. Then he’d shut his eyes on purpose. It was enough to _feel_ it; he didn’t want to see it, too. As soon as he could, he sat up, drawing his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, holding himself together until he felt whole, until he felt human again. He’d sat like that until morning, until the red sun finally rose above the clifftops and proved that the bottom of that narrow gorge wasn’t his entire world.

 _Monster,_ that soldier had called him. They called his brothers monsters, too. Zeno truly had been granted the power of a dragon. That it still had to hurt so much—he’d been promised a body that could never be injured, and this wasn’t—but he wasn’t powerless. _It’s a good thing,_ he repeated to himself. _What I can do is a good thing._

“Seiryuu, I have the sword you gave me.” He’d practiced with it, too—actually practiced, the way Abi had intended. Zeno felt guilty about that. The purpose of a self-defense sword was to avoid getting injured. When he put more effort into that than into learning how his actual powers worked … wasn’t he deliberately rejecting what Ouryuu gave him? _I’m glad I have powers!_ It was something he’d learned as a priest—words had power. If he said it enough, it would be true. _I’m glad I can protect Hiryuu, but I don’t want to feel like that, not ever again._ No. He _did_ want it. He had to want it.

“Good,” said Abi. “But stay back with the king. This battle will be over quickly; I won’t collapse this time.” Abi always said that, but he almost always did, anyway. It was fine, though. By Hiryuu’s side was exactly where Zeno wanted to be.

Guen clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s good you’re finally learning to fight, kid,” he said. “You’ll join us in battle soon!”

“I’m not a kid, I’m twenty-two,” Zeno muttered, but comments like Guen’s didn’t bother him as much as they used to. If he didn’t fight on the battlefield, it wasn’t going to be because he was powerless, useless. His powers just had a different place—and _that_ wasn’t something he had to convince himself was a good thing. That felt right.

This wasn’t a battle for the king to fight in person. This was one lone lord who thought he could hold out against the expansion of Kouka’s five tribes. Hiryuu would appear on the battlefield, but there was no call for him to raise his sword. “My king,” Zeno asked, from their vantage point on a high hill behind the field of battle. “Why did he come? He must know there’s no chance. I think—I think my brothers alone could take care of this, even without the rest of your army.”

“In a sense, he had to come,” Hiryuu replied. “You’ve met him; Lord Taen is a man of honor. He can’t just hand his people over to a foreign invader.” He pressed on against Zeno’s protest. “I won’t deny it. To him, that _is_ what I am, no matter how lofty my goals may be.” Hiryuu gave a sad smile, and sighed. “I won’t crush them. I hope we can live in peace, after this.”

King Hiryuu must be visible to Lord Taen and all of his soldiers, his red hair and cape whipped about by the wind, standing firm yet blazing like a brilliant fire. Kouka’s army had banners, but they were hardly necessary—Hiryuu himself was all the banner they needed. People sometimes said the same about the dragon warriors, but next to his king, Zeno felt very drab. His golden hair and his new cloak flared out like flags in the wind, too, but he’d never make for an imposing figure. Zeno looked back out at the fighting. “Ah, it looks like it’s over already.”

“Good,” said Hiryuu, and it was. A battle where Zeno could protect his king was good, but one where he didn’t have to was even better, and—what was that? That soldier running towards the king wore Kouka’s armor, Kouka’s colors, but the way he was moving—

“King! Get down!”

It was instinct alone. Zeno didn’t have to steel himself against anything, because he was already there, and the assassin’s spear— _it hurts!_ —pierced his shoulder through almost before he knew it was coming. Zeno grabbed the spear below the blade and stepped backwards, wrenching it back out—it hurt more coming out than going in, tearing instead of piercing, but there was no _time_ to focus on the pain while this man still wanted to kill his king. It was the assassin’s horrified expression, rather than the feeling, that told him he was healing just like he’d done before. As the man stood frozen in shock, Zeno used that distraction, pulling the spear out of the man’s grasp, swinging the butt end down around low, knocking the man off his feet. Zeno found himself on the ground as well—maybe he should have Shuten teach him the basics of spear-fighting after all—but it was all right now. Hiryuu’s other guards had reached the assassin, taking him down for good.

“A man of honor, you said?” Sending in an assassin once he knew the battle was lost, it was clear Lord Taen was nothing of the sort. But the words died on his lips as Zeno turned around, looked up at Hiryuu, saw his king with almost the same horrified expression that the assassin had worn moments ago. “I’m fine!” Zeno reassured him.

“Zeno …” Hiryuu bent down, reached out his hand, and that was undoubtedly pity on his face. Zeno had finally done what he’d always dreamed of doing. He’d protected his king in battle, and for a brief moment he didn’t have to convince himself that it was a good thing—it just _was._ But that look of pity …

“I’m not hurt,” Zeno repeated, taking Hiryuu’s hand and pulling himself to his feet. “He missed! The spear went through my cloak!”

“He … missed.”

That was another thing Zeno had learned as a priest. How to lie by telling the truth. He wasn’t hurt, because he’d already healed. The assassin missed, because he’d been aiming for Hiryuu, not Zeno. The spear _did_ pierce Zeno’s cloak—it just went through his shoulder, too. Sometimes, people weren’t ready to hear what the gods had to say, so you had to … _Hiryuu was a god. He can probably see right through me._

But Hiryuu was human now. Maybe _he_ wasn’t ready. And Zeno understood. He could wait. He could protect his king in secret for now, and someday, eventually … “Right, he missed!” Zeno repeated. “I’m fine, my king. I really am.”

* * *

He spent the next week avoiding Hiryuu. After the battle, neither of them had spoken. There were excuses for it at first. Surrender, peace talks, treaties—all things that Hiryuu had to attend to, and which Zeno had no part in. But the excuses began to wear thin, and Zeno couldn’t avoid his king forever.

“Zeno.” It was morning, a calm day at last, and Zeno sat in one of the castle gardens. It was one of his favorite places—and a place where Hiryuu often came to join him—so it was no surprise (was it, instead, relief? Had he been secretly hoping for this?) when he saw the king step out onto the terrace. Hiryuu sat down beside him, reached an arm across Zeno’s shoulders, and Zeno froze at the touch but didn’t pull away. “You haven’t been taking your meals with your brothers. Have you been eating?”

“Don’t worry! I’ve just been getting food from the kitchens!” In truth, he hadn’t eaten the night of the battle, or the day after, but the rest wasn’t a lie.

“We all miss you,” said Hiryuu. “I miss you.”

“King …”

Hiryuu pulled his arm away, but didn’t move from where he sat. “I wanted to leave the castle for a while,” Hiryuu said. “Will you walk with me?”

Just the two of them together, they’d _have_ to talk. Zeno still wasn’t ready—but he found himself nodding, tears welling up in his eyes. His powers were supposed to bring him closer to his king, not force them apart. “Oh, Zeno,” said Hiryuu, reaching over to wipe a tear from Zeno’s cheek. “You must have been so frightened.”

“I wasn’t—”

“To be … almost … injured like that,” Hiryuu continued. Ah. So that was how it would be. “You’re not a soldier, Zeno. You shouldn’t have to face such a thing.”

“I was scared,” Zeno admitted. If he said that much, would Hiryuu say the rest? But the regret in his king’s eyes only deepened. “Still, you’re safe, right, King?” Zeno asked, forcing a smile. “That’s what matters!”

“It’s not the only thing.”

Unsure how to respond, Zeno stood up. “You … wanted to go out walking, my king?” Hiryuu nodded, standing as well, and Zeno followed him out to the palace gates, silent at his side until he saw which path Hiryuu was about to set out on. “Let’s go a different way today!”

“Of course,” said Hiryuu, but he lifted an eyebrow in question.

“We just … go that way all the time,” said Zeno, and Hiryuu nodded. “I’m glad the weather’s finally getting better,” he added, as they took the road that led down into the open valley. “It really feels like summer now!”

“Zeno. You haven’t been avoiding me for a week only to talk about the weather now,” said Hiryuu. “I won’t allow it.”

“… right, King. Then …” Zeno paused. “Was there something you wanted to talk about?” _You know. And if you say it, I’ll—please, say it!_ Zeno’s powers still frightened him. But he’d used them! He’d saved the life of his king, taken a fatal blow in his stead, and he really was unharmed. There was nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide. True, Zeno had been the one to start this game of secrecy. But Hiryuu had looked at him like—like his powers were something awful. Like he wished with all his heart that Zeno truly was powerless. _I’d tell you everything, if I knew you wouldn’t pity me. We could do this together!_ Hiryuu had been with Guen, Shuten, and Abi as they’d learned about their powers, telling them stories about his brothers in heaven who’d given them their gifts. Did he really find Zeno so monstrous that he couldn’t bring himself to do the same for him? _Please, my king! Just say it!_

Hiryuu said nothing, only reached for Zeno’s hand. Eventually, he spoke. “I was hoping that you—”

If neither one could speak first … “My king, sometimes I think you became _too_ human.”

“No such thing,” said Hiryuu with a soft smile.

“King … I was always ashamed that I couldn’t protect you, the way my brothers can.” _I don’t want to be ashamed of the fact that I can._

“You all work so hard to protect me,” said Hiryuu. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am too human, because I can’t return the favor, Zeno, I can’t …”

Zeno dropped the king’s hand in genuine surprise. “You—you’re the king! You protect the whole kingdom! Of course you protect us.”

Hiryuu just shook his head. “I’ll protect you as long as I can,” he said.

“Then you _have_ to let me protect you, too.”

“Not on the battlefield,” said Hiryuu. “Not like that.” It was the closest he would ever come, Zeno knew, and it was exactly what he didn’t want to hear. _I will, though. It’s in my blood now. I’ll protect you, even if you won’t acknowledge it. Even if you pretend not to see._

The warm sun continued to beat down from above. The long shadows of morning had drawn back as it approached its zenith, but birds still sang out from the trees that lined the road. A bright, clear day like this shouldn’t be a day for secrets. He’d hoped—but this wasn’t the conversation he’d wanted to have. Best to just end it. “Let’s go back, King,” said Zeno. “It’s too hot. You’ll get a sunburn.”

“And you won’t?” Hiryuu asked, playfully, as if everything was suddenly back to normal between them. As if that battle and everything after hadn’t happened at all.

“No,” said Zeno, shortly. “I won’t.”

But—maybe that was better. If they couldn’t have the truth, then … “It’s because of your red hair,” he added, teasing. “Redheads always get sunburns.” And—if pretending was what it took to see Hiryuu smile and laugh like that … maybe it was worth it. Maybe with enough smiles, he could forget the pity; maybe enough open laughter could cover up the secrets. Maybe.

They made their way back to the castle in silence.

Back in his room, Zeno took the dagger Abi had given him from the shelf he’d set it on. He didn’t need that sort of practice anymore. When the time came—would it ever come again?—he would protect Hiryuu, he knew it for certain. The dagger could sit, out of the way, with the sword and spear that Guen and Shuten had given him long ago. A memento from each of his brothers. _I’m sorry, but I’m not a soldier. These won’t help me._ His hand fell to the medallion around his neck. Hiryuu had given him a memento, too—the only one that wasn’t a weapon. _Was it just because I couldn’t fight? Or did you know, even then?_

He didn’t dwell on the question. He didn’t want to know the answer. And yet … he didn’t put the medallion away with his brothers’ gifts, either. He kept it close. No matter the answer, he’d always keep it close.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm [fallenwithstyle](http://fallenwithstyle.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you'd like to come say hi.


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